


Little Darling (Here Comes The Sun)

by lettersbyelise



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Daddy!Draco, Gen, No Romance, St Mungo's Hospital, birth scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-16 14:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14812853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersbyelise/pseuds/lettersbyelise
Summary: In a matter of minutes, Draco will be a father.A father.Oh, he didn’t think this through.





	Little Darling (Here Comes The Sun)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:  
> Title shamelessly stolen from one of my favourite Beatles songs.  
> This story was inspired by the most gorgeous [portrait](http://upthehillart.tumblr.com/post/165115615077/the-day-draco-was-saved) of Draco and Scorpius ever made.
> 
> Thank you [Erin_Riwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erin_Riwen/pseuds/Erin_Riwen), [RuinsPlume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuinsPlume/pseuds/RuinsPlume) and [lotrspnfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrspnfangirl/pseuds/lotrspnfangirl) for the discussion and beta <3
> 
> Disclaimer: JKR and associated publishers own all characters.

“Okay, princess, there’s a contraction coming up… Push when I tell you to… Okay… _PUSH!_ ”

Astoria’s face contorts with the effort. Her blond hair has turned dark, plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her face is red and puffy, barely recognisable, but she’s still Draco’s wife. He loves her, he does, in this moment more than he probably ever has.

Draco wishes the Healer would stop calling her ‘princess’. Astoria told him that’s what Healer Martin calls all her patients and that she didn’t mind, really. Draco still can’t help but find it grating and infantilising.

More than anything though, he wishes he could be more useful than he is at the moment. He’s used to Astoria doing most of the work in their relationship, but this takes their dynamic to a whole different level. So he watches on, slightly abashed by his own unhelpfulness, grimly fascinated by the proceedings.

He expected something different, that’s for sure. Birth seemed so… _urgent_ in the Muggle films Astoria was so fond of: harsh lighting and a woman screaming and an army of nurses and a frantic doctor yelling, ‘ _Push, Push Push!’._ Rationally, he knows it’s only one way of picturing it. Draco was born in the Manor, in his mother’s own bed. Knowing Narcissa and Lucius, he doubts there was much screaming and flailing involved. And yet, when he imagined what this moment would be like, it was always scenes from those blasted Muggle shows that came to mind.

Instead, Astoria’s room in St Mungo’s is small and warm, the lighting dim and intimate, the monitoring spells flickering above them like golden fairy lights. It’s still dark outside, just a few hours before sunrise. It’s only them: Draco and Astoria, Healer Martin, and a middle-aged Mediwitch who smiles at him reassuringly every time he catches her eye.

“You’re doing brilliantly, princess!” Healer Martin enthuses. “One more push and the baby’s head crowns!”

Draco feels slightly sick. _Merlin._ It’s only a matter of minutes.

In a matter of minutes, he will be a father.

_A father._

Oh, he didn’t think this through.

Astoria’s hand reaches out for his across the white sheets of the hospital bed and he lets her grab his fingers. Her grip is crushing and painful but he doesn’t have the heart to complain. She’s going through a lot worse than he is.

“Does Dad want to watch when the baby comes?” Healer Martin asks sweetly, her brown eyes magnified by impressively large spectacles. The image of Professor Trelawney flashes in Draco’s mind and he almost laughs. He catches Astoria’s inquiring gaze and he turns back to Healer Martin.

He nods.

He has no idea what possesses him to do it as he steps closer to his wife’s open legs, never letting go of her hand. He’s certainly seen worse in his life, hasn’t he?

The sight that greets him leaves him awestruck and breathless.

“Alright, princess, now… _push_ ,” instructs Healer Martin, and Astoria does, squeezing Draco’s fingers with a vice-like grip.

He can’t feel the pain anymore.

He’s mesmerised by what he’s witnessing.

Oh, it’s the messiest thing he’s ever seen. It’s bloody and slimy and slightly disgusting, but Draco can’t bring himself to care.

 _Birth is gross,_ he thinks idly.

Life _is gross, you absolute wanker,_ his mind provides helpfully.

It’s still the most riveting thing he’s ever seen.

“See that, Dad?” Healer Martin nudges him. “Your baby’s head!”

Draco stares.

“Hair,” he says flatly. “The baby has hair,” he repeats, turning to Astoria who laughs. She looks exhausted and wonderfully happy.

“Thanks for the update, darling.” She grins. He smiles at her, too amazed to do anything else.

“One more push, princess,” Healer Martin reminds her. “One, two, three… “

Astoria curls around her belly and holds her breath, crushes Draco’s hand once more, and pushes. It goes so fast. One second Healer Martin is standing there empty-handed, Draco watching over Astoria’s thigh, the next second the Healer pulls a… a _tiny little being_ into her hands. A tiny little being, red and ugly, covered in blood and mucus, with tiny little arms outstretched and a tiny little mouth open and—

His son screams.

It’s a tiny little sound, like a Kneazle kitten meowing.

It’s the loudest sound Draco’s ever heard.

He can’t hear much of anything else. Astoria is sobbing and laughing next to him. He can’t see her. His vision has gone wet and blurry.

He vaguely senses Astoria’s hand leaving his as she lifts her arms to hold her baby.

Their baby.

_Fuck._

He has a _baby._ He has a _son._

He hastily wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and meets Astoria’s eyes. They’re red-rimmed and ecstatic. She smiles at him through her tears, turning back to the baby swaddled up in a blanket, held close to her chest.

“Scorpius,” she murmurs like a mantra. “Scorpius.”

 

****

 

Astoria has been asleep for an hour when the baby stirs in his cot. From the armchair he’s sitting in next to the window, Draco can see a tiny lifted fist. He stands and walks over to the cot.

Dark blue-grey eyes stare at him from within. Draco stares back, numb with love.

The baby gurgles at him, never looking away from his face.

“Hullo,” Draco tells him. “You’re up already.”

The baby keeps staring. Draco reaches down and lifts him from the cot. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this careful with anyone in his life.

The baby’s head rests against Draco’s left palm, Draco’s fingers practically wrapped all the way around his head. He holds the baby’s body in his right hand. He can imagine his little heart beating, fast and steady and strong like the wings of a Golden Snitch.

He’s so small.

“Aren’t you tired? That was a long journey you made.”

The baby doesn’t answer of course, but his eyes are wide open. He’s surveying Draco with unwavering focus.

Draco decides it’s the best conversation he’s ever had.

With the baby in his arms, he walks around Astoria’s bed, mindful not to wake her. She’s sleeping with her head propped on two pillows, her face turned towards the cot. She looks at once exhausted and incredibly serene. Draco’s chest swells with pride for her. She’s worked so hard.

She’s given them their son.

He stands near the window overlooking the park behind St Mungo’s. There’s a light breeze outside, ruffling the leaves. The sky is pink and gold, the sun rising beyond the London skyline. Everything is green and new.

He looks down at the baby in his arms.

The big, blue-grey eyes are still fixed on him, as though waiting for him to keep talking.

“See that?” Draco tells him, turning him towards the window. “This is spring. This is the day you were born.”

He doesn’t fight the moisture in his eyes. He has no idea why he’s suddenly so emotional, he who hasn’t cried for ten years.

But that’s what love at first sight feels like, doesn’t it? It’s bound to leave you a little shaky. Draco vaguely thinks he probably ought to feel scared. He’s responsible for someone else’s life now. For someone else’s well being, happiness and fulfilment. He was so scared before. Scared that he wouldn’t be up to the task. Scared that he wouldn’t be enough. Scared that he would repeat his father’s mistakes.

He’s never felt less scared than he does now, with his son in his arms, with the sun rising to celebrate the new day.

The baby squirms in his arms, and there's no doubt in his mind anymore. He just knows. He’s going to be a brilliant father for his son.

“Hello, Scorpius,” he tells him with a smile. “I’m your dad.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are lovely!
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lettersbyelise)!


End file.
